Her
by Ninja Cucumbers
Summary: ((First story on this site! Please tell me how it is! Original on Quotev)) France had one love, and she died many years ago. Every year her birthday passes, and every year he visits her memorial. Every year he breaks down, but never as much as this time. ((WARNING: Suicide))


"Beep, beep, be-" my alarm clock calls out before I quiet it with a forceful thud. I roll over and stare at the ceiling, not ready to get out of bed. A flash of lightning illuminates the room with a loud boom as it hits me like a ton of bricks. Today is the day She died, all those years ago.  
I really love my bed, and walk to the bathroom. After turning the lights on, I look at myself in the mirror, and nearly shudder at the sight. Gross, limp, strands of straw fall in my face. My skin is so pale, like I had become snow during the night. Then I look into my eyes. My pale blue eyes that normally hide so much are now overflowing with silent tears and rimmed with red. All because today is the day She died.  
A loud roll of thunder echoes through the house, and interrupts my stupor. I quickly shove the water on, and splash it's across my face. After hissing in pain, I search for the towel I know is near by with closed eyes. Finally, my hand hits something soft. I dab it across my face, then lay down next to sink. I open my eyes, and look at my reflection again. My skin has become its normal color, but my eyes, although no longer red, still hold of sadness to them. A sadness that I can no longer cover up.

With an audible exhalation, I turn off the bathroom light and walk out. I grab the white, button up shirt hanging on my chair, and throw it on along with black dress pants. I brush my hair out, and throw on some shoes. A glint of gold catches my eye. I pick it up, and a sad smile appears upon my face. It's Her locket. Quickly, I put it on, and try not to cry.

I glance out the window and stare at the clouds, large, gray, stormy, and beautiful. Just like Her eyes. I turn away with a sharp inhale, feeling pressure from the tears behind my eyes as they threaten to fall. Though I know, before the end of the day, that I will break and they will fall. 'Stay strong France, stay strong,' I think to myself as I walk out of my room; down the hall; through the living room; and out the back door into the garden. I grab the umbrella leaning against the side of the house, and open it to walk down the garden path lined with roses.  
I walk quietly, listening to the storm raging around me, to the most secluded part of the garden. The place where the blue roses bloom. The place where Her memorial stands, protecting and watching over her most favorite place in the whole world.

Reaching the place, I kneel in front of the stone angel marking Her death. "Bonjour ma chere, how are you today?" I pause for a moment, hoping for a reply. My silence is greeted with only a flash of lightning and a roll of thunder. "I guess you could say I'm doing fine, at least that's what the other countries think. Truthfully, I wish I was beside you up there in heaven. For everyday without you is like a knife in my heart, slowly being pushed deeper and deeper. Why did you have to leave me mon amour? WHY'D YOU HAVE TO LEAVE ME ALL ALONE?" I yell with tears freely running down my face. As silence greets my question, I drop my umbrella and try to stop the water works. "Why did God have to take you away? Why did he have to take my one, and only, love? What did you do to anger him so? What did I do to anger him so? You didn't deserve that! You deserved to live, happy and free, with me! So many girls I've been with, guys as well, but none of them can fill that void you left behind," I say through my prevailing tears.

Wind blows both hair and rain into my face as I get up, and walk towards Her statue. Hidden under the skirt, a knife glistens as lightning shoots across the sky. I grab it as a burst of thunder protests my actions.

"Mon amour, I've gone so long without your love, your presence. For so long I've pretended to be happy. I've become so good at this act, no one sees through it anymore. I've almost believed it myself once or twice, but it's always an act. I can't live without you anymore, mon amour. Please forgive me for this sinful act or selfishness," with that said I plunge the knife straight into my heart.

In the few moments I'm alive, I hear the rustle of wings and the whisper or a soft, melodic voice,"You're forgiven Francis." Then everything fades to black, and I enter an eternal rest with the love of my life.


End file.
